


Local Luminaries & Rising Stars

by AllKindsOfEverything



Category: Father Brown (2013)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 17:51:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13172106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllKindsOfEverything/pseuds/AllKindsOfEverything
Summary: My Secret Scones 2017 entry for ghostofachancewithyou. Remember when Lady F was caught by Sullivan in his office & she pretended she was writing him an invitation in "The Curse of Amenhotep"?Well, that Soirée had to happen eventually (or rather 'next month'), and Lady Felicia is never one to back down from a challenge, so it did.





	Local Luminaries & Rising Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Secret Scones 2017 draw:
> 
> Username: @ghostofachancewithyou
> 
> Favorite Characters:  
> Inspector Sullivan, Lady Felicia, Bunty
> 
> Favorite Ships/Dynamics: (all platonic)  
> Inspector Sullivan & Lady Felicia.  
> Inspector Sullivan & anyone, to be honest
> 
> Potential Prompts:  
> garden party
> 
> I took slight liberty with the prompt, since „garden parties” are usually held in the afternoon & I’m pretty sure there’s no dancing involved, but I had this clear image of the inspector arriving in a tuxedo in mind & the plot bunny just ran away with me… sorry(?).

Looking out over the torch-lit garden, Inspector Sullivan suddenly wished he had a drink. Not only to calm his nerves, but so he’d have something to hold on to instead of standing here, not quite sure what to do with his hands.

He was still unsure why she had invited him to this party. No, not a party, a _soirée_. A party he could have probably fit in, but _this_?  
Sullivan sighed. His palms were sweaty.  
_This_ felt like that time he had to give a speech at the academy. Only worse. Everyone looked so elegant. He just didn't fit in. The cut of his tuxedo was outdated, his collar felt much too tight and the inlay on one of his shirt studs was chipped.  
They were staring at him, he was sure of it. From the valet who had welcomed him at the main entrance to the waiter who had offered him the glass of champagne he had declined when he stepped out onto the terrace; they knew he didn't belong.

On the drive here he had already tried to calculate how much time he’d have to spend before leaving without it being construed as rude.  
In the end it came down to too many unknown variables for him to be able to calculate it at all, which had only added to the tension in his back.

He was just about to admit defeat and turn on his heels when he spotted Lady Felicia weave through the crowd to meet him, wearing a dress that should have been illegal.  
It wasn't even ‘revealing’ in the common sense.  
If he had had to explain it to someone, he would have said that whoever had tailored it had made sure it fit the contour of her body very precisely. Sullivan hoped that the warmth he felt under his collar didn’t colour his face as he snapped out of his musings and walked towards her to meet her half way.  
“Lady Montague.” He took her hand and bent slightly.

“Inspector, _so_ glad you could join us,” her warm smile turned a tad mischievous, “I do hope those impeccably polished shoes of yours are comfortable; there'll be dancing later.”

He felt a cold flash running up his spine. “I’m not sure, I,” he tried to think of a good excuse, _any_ excuse, but before he could continue she had stepped beside him and snuck her hand in the crook of his arm.

“Come on,” she squeezed his arm lightly, “let me introduce you to some people.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

Refilling her glass, she surveyed the crowd, quite pleased with herself. Signalling one of the staff that this bottle was empty she smiled her thanks at the waiter as he took it from her.

“Auntie Fliss,” Bunty appeared next to her, champagne glass in hand, eyes fixed on someone standing with a gaggle of people a good distance away from them. With a mischievous glint and a nod of her chin she asked, “Who's that?”

It didn't take more than a second to know who she meant. “That's Inspector Sullivan. He's the reason for this party.” She smirked at Bunty's perplexed expression. “He almost caught me red-handed while I was sleuthing in his office, so I invited him to a Soirée.” She shrugged, “Trouble was that I hadn't one planned at all.”

Bunty huffed, “So you threw this together on a whim?”

“I wouldn't call it that, but it was the first thing that came to my mind and you must admit it turned out quite well.” Felicia nipped at her drink.

Bunty studied her aunt's profile. She made it sound so easy. Bunty was once again reminded of why she had wanted to be 'just like aunty Fliss' when she grew up.  
Her gaze travelled back to the inspector. “Handsome chap.”

Felicia knew that tone of voice far too well, “Please don't flirt with him.”

“Why not? Happily married?”

“No.”

“Gay?”

“Probably; the jury's still out on that one.” Felicia glance over to where the inspector was currently occupied listening to the ramblings of Major Westwood with a strained expression. Poor man; she would have to rescue him in a minute.

Taking another sip of champagne, Penelope mused, “I could find out you for?”

“Bunty!” She turned to her niece, using her best grown-up voice, “Don’t flirt with my guest of honour, it makes him feel uncomfortable.” She ignored the girl's eye roll and stole another glance at the inspector, “It's a miracle he showed up at all. Sense of duty, I suppose.”

“Fine. I won't flirt with him.” A loop-sided grin appeared on her face and she nudged her aunt, “If you won't either.”

Her mouth curling up at the corner, Felicia winked, then raised her glass and clinked it to Bunty's in silent agreement before both women looked back at the inspector with matching smirks on their faces.

 

~*~*~*~

 

“Felicia, darling, did you know this chap used to be in the same rowing team as our Daniel?” Major Westwood pointed his index finger at Sullivan while the others remained firmly around his glass.

“Hmm, explains the arms,” Felicia murmured only loud enough for Sullivan’s ears to pick up on it and turn a delightful shade of pink.

“What was that, dear?” The major furrowed his brow.

“I said that I didn’t know that before, Ashley. But what I do know is that he was recently awarded the King’s Police Medal.”

Sullivan’s surprise was only made visible by the twitch of his brow, while the major’s took over his whole face.

“Was he now,” Major Westwood turned towards the inspector with new found respect. “Well, my dear chap, it is an honour to have you as head of Kembleford’s police department.”

“Now if you’d excuse us, major, I promised to show the inspector the Japanese garden.” Felicia linked arms with Sullivan and pulled him away before either man could object.

 

~*~

 

When they were at a safe distance, Felicia let go of the inspector’s arm and smiled knowingly at him, “Sorry for not rescuing you sooner; Ashley can be a bit much when he gets started on certain topics.”

“It’s all right,” Sullivan clasped his hands behind his back as they walked side by side. “He has some,” he tried hard to come up with a neutral word, “ _interesting_ views.”

Felicia laughed at his polite wording. “That’s a nice way to put it.”

“How did you know about the medal?”

“Oh, don’t underestimate me, inspector,” Lady Montague grinned smugly, “There’s few things I don’t know and nothing I can’t find out.”

He felt a smile tug at his lips, “I'll take your word for it.”

“Good.” Stopping at a small bench she turned towards the beautiful, though unlit part of the gardens, “This is as far as I can get you away from the crowd without you getting lost on your way back.”

Sullivan was surprised and slightly worried. Unsure of what to say, he stayed quiet.

“I’m going to leave you here to take a break from it all,” Felicia noticed his caught expression and smiled warmly. “You’ll need to be at your best when you meet Chief Superintendent Cartwright.”

He blinked several times, his jaw muscles clenching.

“Don’t worry,” Felicia felt tempted to pat his arm but didn’t. “He’s an old friend.”

“Thank you, Lady Felicia.” He wasn’t sure whether he was thanking her for giving him an advanced warning about meeting his superior or for granting him a little peace and quiet. Probably both.  
The way her eyes sparkled and she nodded silently before leaving made him reconsider some of the opinions he had about her.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Sullivan didn’t quite know how much time he had taken, staring into the semi-darkness of the gardens, but it had definitely done the trick. He felt a lot more at ease now than he had while trying to make polite conversation with a handful of people he didn’t know and somewhere along the way he had almost forgotten about his chipped shirt stud and the small scuff he had noticed on the inside seam of his tuxedo cuff.  
His collar still felt a tad too tight, but all in all he didn’t feel half as uncomfortable or misplaced as at the time of his arrival.

When the waiter offered him a glass of champagne he appreciatively accepted and went over to where Lady Felicia stood in a semi-circle of people who hung on her every word. It was fascinating to see her moderate what appeared to be a lively discussion about the state of economics.  
It was almost like watching a conductor at the orchestra.  
For a second he wished he could capture attention as easily as it seemed to be for her.

“Ah, Inspector,” she beamed at him when she saw him approach, drawing the attention of the group towards the new arrival just in time before Lord Vernon could barge in with a rant on how the country was in shambles and it was all the sovereign’s fault.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“ Sullivan began.

“-as I was saying-“ Lord Vernon interrupted, but was in turn ignored by Lady Felicia who extended her hand and pulled the inspector into the circle to stand next to  her.

“-nonsense, I’m glad you’re here. I was becoming quite agitated by all this talk about politics.” She scrunched her nose, grinning widely. “Bertie, this is the Inspector I told you about,” Felicia introduced him to a tall man with an impressive moustache wearing a full dress uniform without missing a beat.

“Ah yes, Sullivan. I’ve read your file. Quite interesting, to say the least,” he smiled humorously as they shook hands.

“Chief Superintendent Cartwright, it’s an honour, sir.” Sullivan felt his back go the slightest bit more rigid as he bowed his head in greeting. Somewhere in the back of his mind he cursed for not having worn his own uniform.

“This is my wife, Emmeline.” Bertie smiled at the black haired woman by his side.

He took her hand and bowed, “Mrs Cartwright.”

“Yes, Sullivan, I remember you telling me about him,” her expression was stern, her hand limp. She was a good deal shorter than the rest of their group, the mink stole around her shoulders obviously purely for show in the warm weather. Her dark eyes gleamed wickedly. “Isn’t he the one who was bound for London? Your father must have been rather vexed by your sudden… plunge.”

Sullivan didn’t know whether it was the anger, the frustration or the shame that made his blood boil at her words, but it took every ounce of self-control he had not to lash out at the woman.

“Well, Emmi, I’m sure he got over it just the way your mother did after yours,” Felicia smiled sweetly at the other woman’s glare, turning towards the Chief Superintendent’s questioning gaze. “Oh, she didn’t tell you?” She didn’t have to wait more than a split second before Emmeline interrupted her.

“So! How are you settling in, Inspector? Kembleford must be quite different from what you’re used to.”

From the corner of his eye, Sullivan noticed Lady Felicia’s self-satisfied smile, making a mental note to thank her for intervening. “It has its charms.” He somewhat evaded the question, feeling strangely cornered by the chief super’s wife.

“Oh, I’m sure it has,” Emmeline looked at Felicia in a knowing way that Sullivan found he didn’t care for at all.

“The inspector has some rather marvellous ideas about modernising the police station. You should meet up and discuss it sometime, Bertie,” Felicia ignored the other woman completely for the moment.

“I’m sure that could be arranged,” Bertie agreed in an effort to make up for his wife’s behaviour.

“Now if you'll excuse us,” Felicia placed her glass on the tray of a passing waiter and linked her arm with Sullivan’s, “I have it on good authority that Inspector Sullivan is a divine dancer and I’m eager to find out for myself.”

They had turned to leave before Cartwright quipped, “And here I was thinking _I_ ’d get the next dance, Felicia.”

“I’m sorry Bertie, but I value my toes too highly. Feel free to step on your wife’s,” she winked at him over her shoulder.

Emmeline’s eyes narrowed, “If that threadbare tuxedo is an indication for when he was last on a dance floor then good luck. At least it goes with the chipped shirt stud.”

“And you would know all about those things from when you were working at Woolworth’s, wouldn’t you, Emmi.” Felicia pulled the inspector towards the dancefloor before anyone else could say a thing.

 

~*~

 

They moved smoothly together; Sullivan leading self-confidently, Felicia following readily, and yet something was bothering her. “If you don't loosen up you'll break your spine before the day is over,” she finally said quietly, looking directly at him.

Sullivan growled, “Then it'll match my ego.” His head snapped to look at her, obviously surprised by his own candour. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

Felicia grinned. “No take backs.”

He felt his ears warm and smiled sheepishly then changed their step, rather impressed as to how easily she adapted.

After a moment of silence, Felicia probed, “Are you still thinking about what Emmeline said?”

His jaw muscles clenched. “She is the wife of the Chief Superintendent.”

Studying him for a moment, she shrugged lightly, “She's also a foolish old hag, who can't hold her liquor. I promise you she didn't mean anything by it. She's probably already forgotten what she said.”

“ _I_ haven’t.”

“Well, you should.” Felicia replied sternly, holding his gaze until he looked away in defeat. “If it changes anything, I’ve made sure that Bertie knows that ever since you’ve arrived people have had nothing but praise for the constabulary. You’re a _pillar_ of this community.”  
That seemed to ease his mind somewhat.  
“I don’t know what happened in London, or why they decided to send you here, but I can tell you with absolute certainty that the people of Kembleford are grateful to have you,” Felicia added emphatically.

Seeing the honesty in her voice mirrored on her face, the Inspector found himself at a loss for words. “Thank you.”  
Sullivan felt the tension leave his shoulders as they continue to dance and by the time they left the dance floor he had forgotten all about his encounter with Emmeline Cartwright.

 

~*~*~*~

 

He stayed for another hour, his hostess rarely leaving his side.   
Sullivan couldn't quite figure out when the unease had vanished, but somewhere in between Lady Felicia telling her friends about his achievements and her delighted giggle when he told a silly anecdote, it had.  
How she had found out all those things she had told her guests about him was a mystery he decided he wouldn't bother solving.

Waiting for the valet to fetch his car, he felt somewhat odd standing in front of the house with her. She had insisted to see him off, ignoring his objection.

“Thank you for a lovely evening, Lady Felicia,” he finally said when the silence felt too uncomfortable.

“Thank you for letting me see you out.”

He smirked, “You didn’t leave me much of a choice.”

Lady Felicia chuckled. “You’ll learn that I can be _very_ stubborn when I want something.” She scrunched her nose, “And I didn’t want anything more than escape the clutches of Mayor Barnes and his wife.”

Looking down in a foolish attempt to hide his amusement, he met her eyes again. “The Mayor can be quite… intense.”

“You _do_ have a way with words, Inspector,” Felicia teased. “I would have used quite a different way of describing the good mayor. But yes, he _is_ rather intense. His wife on the other hand is as sharp as a butter knife if you pardon the expression.”

Before he could answer the valet had arrived with his car.  
Standing next to the open door, Sullivan felt somewhat silly. “Well, thanks again for inviting me, Lady Felicia.”

“Oh please, it was my pleasure,” Felicia beamed and extended her hand, watching him bow slightly. “You fit right in.” She could almost hear the weight fall off his mind. Watching him slip behind the wheel, she held on to the door frame and waited for him to look up at her. “If I were to invite you to another soirée, what are the chances you wouldn’t try to find an excuse not to attend?”

Eyeing her carefully, he weighted his answer. “I’d say they’re better than at the beginning of the evening.”

“So this bunch hasn’t scared you off for good then?” She watched him try to think of a polite way to answer.

“I’d go as far as saying that some of them were rather entertaining.”

“I’m glad,” Felicia smiled. “I enjoyed dancing with you; I’m looking forward to doing it again.”

Sullivan felt a familiar warmth under his collar, knowing that his ears were turning a specific shade of crimson at the moment. He didn’t quite know what to say.

“We’ll just have to make sure that you won’t have to worry about broken shirt studs next time, or you might break your spine after all,” she teased and took a step back. “One thing nobody needs is another spineless inspector, don’t you agree?” Felicia closed the door for him, smiling when he rolled down the window instead of just driving off; a sign that he hadn’t taken offence.  
“If it helps, I’ll promise not to invite Emmeline.”

“If you do, I’ll be sure to wear my dress uniform instead.”

Lady Montague chuckled lowly. “Good night, Inspector.”

Returning her smile with ease, Sullivan started the car, “Good night, Lady Felicia.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

The next day a small parcel arrived by messenger in Sullivan’s office.  
He opened it to find an even smaller, black box and a note.

_For next time  
~Lady Felicia~_

Opening the box his frown turned into a small smile and a huff of amusement as he shook his head at the row of pristine new shirt studs along with matching cuff links.

**Author's Note:**

> There you go. Merry Christmas!  
> You can decide whether he’ll keep his present. I am tempted to think he’d try to return it.  
> But knowing Felicia I bet she wouldn’t let him.  
> Anyway, that’s a story for another time. ;o)


End file.
